AFTER THE CREDITS The Trouble with Tribbles
by Ster J
Summary: SEQUEL! Uh, oh! Kirk found out and now there is more trouble with tribbles! PLEASE NOTE: These IS a chapter 2 to this story!
1. Nary a Lick of Tribble

**AFTER THE CREDITS**

**THE APPLE/THE TROUBLE WITH TRIBBLES**

"Nary a Lick of Tribble"

by Ster Julie

Codes: S, Mc

Rating: PG-13

Part 1 of 1

Summary: Remember the poisonous thorns in The Apple? Spock is still suffering with them months later, until a new treatment literally falls into his lap.

A/N: Thanks for Dru for her tribble story that kick started my Muse into working again!

Dedication: To My baby sis, and to Lady Montague, the Chihuahua that soothes and heals her wounds. (I know. ICK! But it's the only thing that is working!)

--ooOoo--

"Dr. McCoy, this new salve you have provided is as ineffectual as all the previous concoctions."

Doctor McCoy grabbed the tube from the First Officer and tossed over his shoulder and--_swish!--_unerringly into the disposal chute.

"Spock!" he barked, as frustrated as McCoy thought the Vulcan would be if he'd admit to having emotions, "I'm running out of options here. You've been suffering from that thorn toxin since," he paused to check his chart, "stardate 3715, I know, but I've gone through the pharmacopeia of the whole Starfleet Medical database as well as the healing folklore of Earth, Vulcan, Rigel, and, well, half the galaxy. I can't find a cure from your skin rash. All I can say is be grateful that you're still alive. Remember what happened to Hendorff."

Spock lowered his head. How could he forget Security Guard Hendorff? The man had been cut down by the same type of plant that had attacked Spock moments later. In fact, Spock was reminded of Hendorff's fate every time he scratched his itchy, weepy, irritated skin. Hendorff had paid the ultimate price. Spock was merely inconvenienced.

"You know," McCoy mused, "too bad we don't have a dog onboard."

"A dog?" Spock repeated.

"Yeah, a dog," McCoy reiterated. "I once had a skin rash on my legs so bad that nothing would heal it or ease it up. My grandpappy brought me the runt of this litter of bluetick coonhounds and told me to let it lick my sores. I was only 8 years old, but I was certain that he was just a crazy old man. Grandpappy told me that the enzymes in the puppy's saliva were better than any medicine for healing some things." The doctor looked back at Spock's afflicted chest. "Yeah, I wish we had a puppy on board."

-

A few days later, the _Enterprise_ was inundated with--not puppies--_tribbles._

A sleek, black tribble had somehow found its way into the air duct of Mr. Spock's cabin. As Spock was sitting at his desk, ineffectually dealing with the oozing sores on his chest, the vent grating gave way and the dark tribble landed--_plop!­_--on his bare chest.

Spock was hard pressed not to bat the furry thing away. Earlier, he had found that holding a tribble was very soothing, and he gently started rubbing the animal's fur. He sensed something from the tribble, not sentience but perhaps some low-level empathy. Spock was sure that the tribble knew he was experiencing discomfort from the rash on his chest because it was burrowing itself closer to the wounds.

Spock tried to pull the tribble away from his sores, but the creature had other things in mind. It placed its orifice over the wounds and gently began to lick and suck them. Spock was alarmed at first, but then he remembered what McCoy had said about puppy saliva. He also remembered the bioscans done on the creatures and knew that tribbles posed no threat with their chemical makeup, just their reproductive proclivities.

Spock sat back and soon fell asleep in his chair with a sleek dark tribble adhered to his chest. He woke hours later to find that his chest was not as irritated as it was previously. Perhaps there was something to Grandpappy McCoy's advice after all. He carefully stowed the tribble so that it would neither get out of his cabin, find something in his cabin worth eating (thereby breeding), or be removed by some well-meaning cleaning crew.

Spock spent the remainder of the day and night on the problems at Station K-7, on the Klingons, and on the tribbles. He kept careful watch over one tribble in particular through the use of the ship's scanners. Spock was not about to let anything happen to his therapy pet.

-

It had been a long two days dealing with the Mr. Baris, with the Klingons, with the tribbles, and with the usual day-to-day occurances on a ship the size of _Enterprise_. Spock was more than ready for a meal, an hour of meditation, a shower, and a session with his tribble, not necessarily in that order. He first went to check on his tribble.

Spock found a limp ball of fur instead of the vibrant tribble that licked his wounds clean the night before. Spock ran his tricorder over the creature and found that it was dying from ingesting the thorn toxin. The Vulcan held the tribble close to himself as the animal trilled its last.

If Spock was more honest with himself, he would say that he felt like crying at that point. Not only had this beautiful creature died while serving him, Spock had lost the only source of relief for his rash. And he knew that it would not be possible to have another tribble brought aboard this ship without being brought up on mutiny charges, if he knew James T. Kirk as well as he thought he did. Spock sighed in resignation, disposed of the creature's remains, and went to clean up the nest he had made for it in the back of his closet.

When Spock reached his hand in to remove the towel he had provided for the tribble's comfort, he was greeted by a small, trilling ball of fur. He gently scooped out the little being and found that it was nearly a carbon copy of the elder tribble. Spock knew he hadn't fed the previous tribble. Did it find enough nutrients in what it had sucked out of Spock's wound to reproduce? The Vulcan grew queasy at that thought. Holding the new tribble up to the light, he saw that the sable fur of this tribble had highlights of green and rust. Fascinating! The copper and iron in his blood had somehow caused this effect on the tribble. Spock was certain of it.

Spock quickly bared his chest and placed the tribble above the wounds. This baby tribble didn't know what to do at first, but soon Spock felt the gentle lapping of its tiny tongue. The Vulcan then started to have second thoughts. The first tribble died as a direct result of ingesting the remaining thorn toxin. He couldn't knowingly allow that to happen to this newborn tribble. Perhaps if he had two tribbles, then they could share the task and not ingest so much toxin at a time…

Spock looked for his mother's latest care package. He took out one of his favorite cookies and fed the tribble a few of the seeds imbedded into it. He'd start with three sunflower seeds (for the Sacred Three) and then see what happened.

Sure enough, the next morning the young tribble had two babies of its own, each a carbon copy of itself. He set the new tribbles on his wounds and decided to keep the parent tribble for observation. They had not had the opportunity to study one of these remarkable creatures for very long. For one thing, Spock did not know how long a tribble's lifespan was. He planned to find out with the parent tribble.

As for the other two tribbles, Spock only allowed them to attend to his wounds for five minute intervals. He checked each tribble thoroughly for the toxins and found low levels in each tribble. Although Spock's chest demanded more treatment, he let the babies rest for the day. There would be more time after shift when they were older.

After the shift, Spock hurried to his cabin. The young tribbles were fine and had even doubled in size. He stripped off his uniform and pulled a robe over his shoulders. He placed the tribbles on his bare chest and allowed their parent to rest on his lap.

Soon the gentle little sucks, the warm weight, and the sweet trilling lulled Spock into a deep sleep. The tribbles followed the Vulcan into his dreams and soon they grew larger and larger, sprouting faces, arms, legs and shapely torsos. The two tribble-women on his chest moved to his nipples, while the one in his lap gave attention to his genitalia. The stimulation was most enjoyable, and since Spock somehow knew this was a dream, he allowed it to come to its logical conclusion.

Spock awoke with a great cry and a shudder that nearly dislodged the tribbles from his body. The creatures had other thoughts. They turned away from the wounds on his chest and busily licked Spock clean and dry. Spock shook his head at what had just happened, scanned the tribbles for any distress (There was none), put them in their nest and put himself to bed.

The next morning, Spock found each of the tribbles curled around a single baby each. The elder tribble had given birth to another dark baby, but the younger tribbles had produced verdigris tribbles with rust highlights. The colors were alarming. He scanned the animals and found that the elder tribble was close to death, not from toxins but from producing two litters on such meager nutrients. The other tribbles were not faring well either. He dared not give them even one seed apiece. His chest was now fully healed, and, what would he do with more tribbles? However, he could not allow the creature to starve to death because of him.

Spock dared to let Dr. McCoy in on his secret. He called the physician to his quarters and showed him his healed chest and his undisclosed method of treatment.

"If Jim knew you were harboring a tribble, Spock, he'd skin you alive!" McCoy declared.

"Not 'a' tribble, Doctor," Spock declared, "four. A fifth one died a short while ago. And if you did that, Doctor, I would have to implicate you in this manner."

_"Me!"_ McCoy thundered. "Why?"

"It was you who gave me the idea to use the enzymes in tribble saliva to heal my wounds," Spock explained.

McCoy shook his head and looked in on the tribbles. He jumped back at the sight of the green and copper fur.

"What the blazes?" he began.

"The only sustenance the tribbles received was from what they extracted from my body," Spock lectured, not daring to tell McCoy _everything_ the tribbles had received from him. "I find higher traces of copper and iron in this generation of tribbles. It has obviously had an effect on the creatures' make-up."

"Well, Spock," McCoy said bouncing on his toes, "I guess you really _are_ what you eat!"

FIN


	2. Son of Tribble

"Son of Tribble"

McCoy scanned Spock from outside his cabin door. The doctor did not want to disturb Spock if he was resting, but he needed to determine the Vulcan's state of health. Spock could weather nearly any disease but one, the common cold. Since his hybrid genes could not tolerate the usual remedies and symptom relievers, Spock had to just ride out the virus until it released its grip on him.

McCoy also wanted to replenish Spock's supply of vegetable broth and hot tea, as well as look in on the tribbles. Fortunately, no one had discovered their existence yet. Spock was still studying the creature's longevity, seeing just how little the animals could survive on without breeding.

The doctor slipped into the overly-warm room and was treated to a shocking sight. Spock was splayed on his back, sound asleep, with a large writhing mass under the covers at his groin.

Spock awakened with a gasp as McCoy sat the two thermoses down on the counter.

"Are those tribbles under the blanket, or are you just glad to see me?" McCoy couldn't resist teasing the staid Vulcan.

Spock peeked under the covers and grimaced.

"Not again," he murmured.

"What are those lil' fellers doing under there?" the doctor asked with a smirk.

"Licking me clean, it would seem," Spock replied with chagrin.

McCoy laughed. "That is _some_ experiment you are conducting here."

"I assure you, Doctor," he replied tiredly, "I did not intend for this to happen…"

"Again."

"Again." Spock looked over at the specimen case that he had placed the tribbles in the night before. Sure enough, the closing mechanism had been dislodged. His tribbles just did not want him to be alone, it seemed.

"Do you need a towel?" McCoy offered.

Spock looked down at himself again. "No, thank you," he replied. "The tribbles did an adequate job."

"So _that's_ how you ended up with green tribbles, eh Spock?"

Spock couldn't help but blush. He hadn't wanted anyone, least of all McCoy, to know about that first occurrence. And now, here the doctor was, witness to this second shameful act that Spock didn't even have the pleasure of remembering.

"Don't worry about it," McCoy assured. "It's just a reflex. The tribbles were only trying to keep warm and fed." McCoy placed a hand on Spock's forehead and looked into the Vulcan's eyes. "So, how are you feeling this afternoon?"

"Afternoon?" Spock puzzled. How many hours had he slept?

"Yes," McCoy confirmed. "It is now 13:50. I bought you more broth and tea. I want all of it gone by 1800 hours, clear?"

"Yes, Mother," Spock replied.

"Don't be a smartass," McCoy responded as he took a look at Spock's eardrums. "No infection, but they are all drawn in. Have you taken a hot shower yet? Did you use the menthol tablet like I told you?"

"Yes and yes, Doctor," Spock answered, "but that was 14 hours ago."

"Well, then, your first item of business is to take another hot shower," McCoy ordered. "Let the water hit your face. Take deep breaths from the steam and vapor. Then come out here and start drinking your soup and tea. I'll hide your tribbles in my quarters so you can get some proper rest."

Spock caught himself pouting on the way to the shower. Snuggling with his tribbles was nearly as good as snuggling with Ee-Chaya, his childhood pet sehlat. However, Ee-Chaya never caused the same dramatic reaction the tribbles did, and all that the sehlat had ever licked off of Spock were the tears from the young boy's face when life overwhelmed him.

As Spock inhaled the medicated steam, he thought about what to do about the tribbles.

-

Doctor McCoy bundled the three tribbles in what was handy--Spock's meditation robe and headed for the door. He opened it, looked carefully up and down the hallway, and then scooted off for his cabin. Not three feet from safety, the doctor ran into the captain. McCoy froze for only a second like a deer caught in the headlights. He muttered, "Captain," with a nod and tried to slip past Kirk and into the safety of his quarters.

"Bones?" Kirk asked in a puzzled voice. "What are you doing with Spock's robe?"

"Robe" he repeated, stalling for time. "Oh, you mean this. Well, I, uh, I'm borrowing it. My sisters like to embroider, and I was going to scan in the fancy stitching here and send it to them." Kirk didn't seem to be buying it, so the doctor summoned up some unfelt bravado. "Spock's been ordered to bed rest, not meditating. He won't be needing this for a while."

"Does he at least know you have it?" Kirk asked, looking out for his best friend.

"Uh, yeah, sure," McCoy stammered. "He knows."

At that moment, the tribbles started to trill from inside the confining folds of Spock's robe. McCoy put a fist to his midsection, then said, "'Scuse me. Today's casserole." When the trilling started again, McCoy pushed forward to his cabin and slipped inside, coughing to cover the noise. "Must be catching Spock's cold. I'll just go medicate myself."

The doors closed in the face of a very suspicious Captain Kirk.

McCoy breathed a sigh of relief and uncovered the tribbles. "Pipe down, willya?" he whispered. "You're gonna get us all shoved out the airlock in our skivvies!"

The doctor looked at the treble of tribbles, curiouser than a cat over why the tribbles were green. He decided to risk taking them to the labs to study them in depth. McCoy called up a specimen case, loaded the animals inside, closed the sound-proof container, and carried them to the Science Labs.

As Murphy's Law would have it, the equipment that McCoy needed for his study was in the same lab that Nurse Chapel was presently using. Since she seemed engrossed in her own project at the far end of the room, McCoy risked removing a tribble, prayed to God that it would remain quiet, and started his scans. As soon as the scan was complete, he loaded the tribble back in the case and waited for the report.

What he found was astounding.

He wasn't sure how he missed it the first time he studied the tribbles. They weren't, strictly speaking, asexual. If he squinted when he read the data, he could say that all tribbles were actually female. Instead of using sperm to fertilize themselves, however, they used the DNA from whatever they found to eat. As McCoy thought about it, he realized that, when the tribbles ate the grain, they were all basically the same color. The only variant was shades of the same color.

That would explain the green tribbles. After eating Spock's… After consuming Spock's DNA, they would produce green tribbles with rusty red highlights. McCoy couldn't help it. He muttered, "Fascinating."

"What's so fascinating, Doctor?" Chapel's voice said far too close for McCoy's guilty comfort.

"Just doing some research, Nurse," he replied as he hurriedly closed the screen, gathered some tapes and the specimen case, and scooted out of the door.

"Now what could be so fascinating?" Chapel wondered and she re-opened the screen and recovered the data.

Vulcan DNA in a _tribble?_ That would mean that Mister Spock and a tribble had done, well, _it._

"Ew," was all Nurse Chapel could think to say.

-

McCoy made it back to his quarters, took the tribbles out of the case, rewrapped them in Spock's meditation robe, and hurried out the door to the Vulcan's side. What a tale he had to tell!

Once more, McCoy encountered Captain Kirk.

"What's in the bundle, Bones?" Kirk said in a low, dangerous voice.

"Just Spock's robe, Captain," McCoy laughed nervously. "He needs it by now. 'Scuse me."

Kirk was having none of the doctor's evasion tactics. He grabbed McCoy by the arm in a strong grip.

The tribbles sensed McCoy's feelings of danger and panic. The three of them let out a cacophony of screeches, as if their uncle-protector McCoy was being attacked by Klingons.

"Tribbles!" Kirk hissed. "How _dare_ you harbor tribbles after what we just went through!" Kirk made a grab for the bundle.

"Spock!" McCoy screamed.

The Vulcan appeared at the door to his quarters at the commotion. McCoy tossed him the robe, praying that the creatures would not tumble out. Spock caught the cloth, grabbed McCoy by the elbow, pulled him into his cabin, and locked the door in the span of a heartbeat.

"Contagion protocols, Doctor," Spock suggested. "He may try to phaser the doors open."

"Computer," McCoy called, "contagion protocols, Mr. Spock's cabin. Authorization _McCoy_ _lambda mu_."

The two men heard a screech as Kirk's tirade and call for a phaser was cut short with a yelp. When the captain had tried to pound on the door, he inadvertently hit the forcefield instead. Of course, that only served to increase Kirk's ire.

Spock gave McCoy a puzzled look.

"Quick," the doctor said, "give the tribbles names and register them as family."

_"What?"_

"Just do it," McCoy replied, "and hurry. You have to put them under your family's protection right now before Jim sends them to kingdom come." He led Spock to his computer. "You type while I explain."

Spock's fingers flew over the keys as he typed in his request. He looked around his quarters for inspiration for the tribbles' names. He named them A'rs'a, Asenara, and Ausachya, and requested protection fro his family over the little trio.

"The animals are not asexual as we first thought," McCoy explained. "They are all female, and they use the DNA of their food source to indirectly fertilize their eggs. Therefore, these tribbles are not your pets, Spock. Genetically, they are your offspring. You are able to keep them as legitimate heirs."

As if on cue, the tribbles leapt into Spock's arms. He tenderly held his three "daughters" to his chest as McCoy lowered the forcefield on the door and opened it.

Captain Kirk peered into his First Officers quarters and saw the Vulcan shielding three tribbles. Instead of bursting into the room and continuing his verbal barrage, Kirk walked in slowly and dangerously quiet.

"Don't take my tribbles, Jim," Spock whispered.

"They're vermin," Kirk grated, "and a risk to my ship." He took another look at the creatures snuggling close to Spock. "Why are they green?" Kirk asked.

Spock ducked his head sheepishly. "They have Vulcan DNA."

Kirk looked at his friend with disbelief. "Spock, what the hell have you been doing in there?" he demanded.

McCoy leapt in to explain. He appealed to the Iowa farm boy in Kirk and told him of Spock's wounds and the healing properties of tribble spit. He gave Kirk a quick recap of the events of the past few days, of tribble anatomy and reproduction. The doctor concluded with his hypothesis that the tribbles could be considered Spock's offspring, daughters, to be precise.

Kirk balked. "They have to go," he ordered.

"They are under the protection of my family," Spock informed.

Kirk said nothing further, but McCoy noted the captain's clenching jaw muscles and the reddening cast to his skin. His blood pressure was rising.

Kirk turned abruptly and stormed out.

"We're in deep shit," McCoy observed.

"Indeed, Doctor," Spock concurred.

-

Spock returned to duty the next day. Kirk did not speak to either Spock or McCoy except in the line of duty.

Spock and McCoy continued to observe the tribbles for four days. They finally determined that their life span was only one week. So much of the tribble's energy went into reproduction, and, since Spock had only been feeding them one seed a day plus whatever they got from him, their final litter was very small and, sadly, not viable.

Spock and McCoy went to Kirk's office to face the music.

Kirk gave his two officers icy stares and said nothing.

"The tribbles are gone," Spock reported sadly.

"Are you certain?" the captain asked frostily.

Spock nodded. "I held them as they died."

Kirk studied the mournful expressions on the two men's faces.

"Did you put them down?" he asked, using the colloquialism for euthanasia.

Spock shook his head. "No," he replied softly. "They died giving birth."

"What happened to the babies?" Kirk asked.

"They weren't fully formed, Jim," McCoy supplied. "They didn't make it either."

Kirk noticed the funereal air of his two officers. "Gentlemen," he rejoined, "we are talking about the equivalent of field mice here!"

"Life is life, Jim," Spock replied.

"But you're reacting as if they were your children!" Kirk snapped.

Spock's eyes flashed. "Because I am a hybrid, Jim, I was told not to ever expect children," he retorted. "This was the closest I have ever come to being a father."

_Ludicrous! _Kirk thought. "So, have you come to ask for a funeral?" he said sarcastically. "For a trip home to Vulcan?"

McCoy eyed Kirk angrily. "No, Captain," the doctor replied frostily. "We've already celebrated the death rituals. We came here to apologize to you and to present ourselves for disciplinary action."

Kirk studied the two men for a moment.

"What good will that do?" Kirk asked irately. "You obviously decided that your actions were better than my orders, and given the same set of circumstances, you would most likely do it all again."

Spock and McCoy exchanged glances.

"You are probably correct," Spock agreed. "However, we know that we have deeply wounded our friendship with you and broken your trust in us. What can we do to repair that?"

Leave it to Spock to bluntly state the obvious. Kirk still stung with anger, an anger that he had held for nearly a week. It would be easy to sever his ties of friendship with these men, but he also knew that it would be impossible. They had all, multiple times, put their lives on the line for each other. Kirk couldn't overlook that. Yet he also couldn't disregard the fact that these men had also disobeyed a direct order.

Kirk rose to his feet and hit a button on his desk. "Computer, record disciplinary hearing on Commander Spock and on Lieutenant Commander Leonard H. McCoy. For disobeying direct orders of Captain James T. Kirk, they are hereby sentenced to one week in the brig on rations, sentence suspended. Record disciplinary action in the officer's permanent records. Kirk, James T., Captain, _USS Enterprise._"

McCoy blew out a sigh of relief. He hated rations. Spock merely nodded his gratitude for the light sentence.

Kirk sat back down and looked at his friends. He couldn't image their friendship ever breaking up, so he decided to start rebuilding it. He motioned them to sit.

"So," Kirk began, "tell me about your tribbles, Spock. What did you name them?"

Both men relaxed at the captain's acceptance.

"I named one of them A'rs'a, which means 'dance,'" he began. "She was quite agile. Her littermate I named Asenara, or 'lantern,' because she seemed to light up whenever I came into the room. Their mother was named Ausachya, or 'fur,' because it was her fur that first started to show the pronounced green colorations."

"And I supposed you were their fairy godfather, eh, Bones?" Kirk teased.

McCoy grinned. "You could say that. I wish we could have shared them with you sooner. They were so damn cute, and little Houdinis to boot. It was so hard to keep them in their cage. You should have seen…"

Kirk listened to his friends as they related story after story about the creatures. Yes, their friendship was strong. This incident was hardly a blip on the screen. The three friends would survive this event with nary a lick of tribble.

END


End file.
